B o o k I
C h a p t e r I
-
"S c a r s "
-
Awaken yourselves from sleep, my children.
This is not a cradle.
Awaken yourselves from sleep, fated children.
Sleep does not advance.
Rise up.
Seek in the garden of truth
Burning with the fires of truth
Sear with flame the darkness of the world.
Burning with the fires of truth
Kindle to ash the evil of the spirit.
Be strong, children,
on that fated day.
"Stand up." the voice ordered, echoing in his ears as the snow began to fall.
The pain had overtaken him, torn him down to the floor once again. The throbbing gash across his back stained his side a muddy red ochre as he rolled deeper into the pit. Off in the distance, he could vaguely make out the Shumi Village..the faint hope that a SeeD excursion awaited him there strengthened his resolve.
"You think anyone'll believe you? They..they'll know an impostor when they see one. You won't get as far as Dollet." he spat, forcing himself up to one knee as the remains of his feathered jacket turned to ash. Beads of sweat mingled with grime and blood across his brow, framing a jagged, gaping wound just above his left eye. His undershirt was little more than a mess of white rags clinging to his withered arms, ripping as he flailed, seeking out the Lionheart.
"I'll get as far as I need to. Who's gonna stop me?" came the serpentine hiss of the man that had left him in pieces.
Almasy circled his prey, gunblade dragging in the mud. What was left of Squall Leonhart-- burned, bloodied, and broken --attempted to stand, but could not find the strength to do so. Again, he collapsed into the mud. Again, he lost sight of his gunblade.
"Cid? The witch-girl? No, wait-- let me guess.."
He rolled onto his back, desperately reaching for the hilt of his weapon as it sunk deeper into the mud. He felt the cold steel on his fingertips...and then it was lost. Almasy knelt beside him, grazing Squall's ear with Hyperion's edge as he drove it into the ground. Locking eyes with his assailant for a moment, Squall called out a name between labored breaths.
"Ell--"
Unflinching, Seifer drove his palm down, smothering the young SeeD with a frightening indifference to the muffled cries that followed. He felt cartilage tearing as he pushed, and couldn't help but smile. He held until he felt the blood gushing out of the weakened commander's nostrils, and let go.
"She can't help you now, boy. Not here. This is Hell. Angels aren'twelcome."
Leonhart gasped for air, his face swollen and mangled by the bitter cold and his former classmate's own assault. Almasy watched him squirm for a moment, taking in the sight of his better-- the man that had defeated him that night in Deling, crumbling before the might of power only Seifer was worthy of wielding. A demonic glint in his eye grew into a blazing red inferno, otherworldly flames swirling at his finger tips as he made it quite clear that he wasn't done just yet.
"I want you to beg. For your life..or for the girl's. I could break you in half, slit Kramer's throat, and be gone by morning. I'm willing to give you--them a chance, however, if you'll only ask of it of me."
Squall struggled to speak, but could say nothing as the flow of blood and mucous turned his every word to labored gasps and drowned screams. Almasy's fingers dug into the boy's hair, pulling him back up to his knees. Standing above the victim, his right hand still tugging on Leonhart's crimson-licked hair, Seifer drew his blade from the dirt. His voice was no longer that of a disillusioned knight, nor of a hollow little boy in search of purpose; it was corruption incarnate. Possessed by the purest, primal hatred, he was something else. He was the Sorcerer's vessel...his divine sword of vengeance.
"I want you to know, boy. I want you to know I could've killed you right here." he warned, the Hyperion's white-hot razor edge hanging under Squall's throat as a silent reminder.
"Instead, I offer you life. A chance for renewal. All you have to do is rise, child..and awaken."
--
B-Garden, Infirmary.
...awaken...from what?
"How are you feeling?" she asked, her tone no different than it had been two years ago. He was back in Garden, bandaged up in the Infirmary. Kadowaki approached him, stethoscope pressing firmly against his bare chest before he had a chance to answer.
How did I get back here again?
"...okay."
Seifer...the Sorceress..is this Time Compression?
"We have to stop meeting like this, 'Commander.' The Headmaster would have a fit if you got trampled off duty."
No. We survived. Ultimecia is gone. This is..
"I..."
"Hm? Is there something on your mind?"
Giving himself time to allow for his eyes to re-focus, Squall sat up from the all-too-familiar bed, wincing as the stitches in his side made themselves known.
"What happened?" he asked, as Kadowaki brandished a silver-plated auriscope, inspecting his left ear with some degree of concern.
"You don't remember? Ah, well. I should've known. That spiky-haired friend of yours brought a T-board into the Training Center. From what I heard from the students, you took a nasty spill when he got swiped by a T-Rexaur you were fighting. You took quite a bump to the head, too."
Figures. What a moron.
"We have a meeting with the Galbadian delegation today. I have to go."
"Hold on a moment! You might have a contusion. We'll have to run some tests before I let you go."
"No time," he said through clenched teeth, straining to pull himself up to his feet by the window sill adjacent to his bed. "Use magic."
"Magic isn't the answer, Squall. You know as well as I do..it tends to leave a mark." she warned, shifting her gaze to the scar across his face. Years later, it remained, a constant reminder of that day by the Fire Cavern. He had dealt a similar wound to the man he would later fight for reasons other than pride-- to save Galbadia, to save the world..to save Rinoa. It'd been two years since he'd last seen Seifer Almasy..at least, in the flesh.
"I had the dream again." he muttered, surrendering himself to the care of Dr. Kadowaki. Maybe rest would do him some good. The Headmaster could tackle this one on his own.
"That may be a sign of severe head trauma. Say your name for me."
"..."
"..well, so far so good."
--
S.S. Great Deling aircraft carrier, docked at Cactuar Island.
I'm already awake.
He was late today. Colonel Henry Lyon had always had some kind of sway in the governing party. His was a legacy of unquestionable service-- from his grandfather to his father, from uncles to cousins, all had served to further whatever goal Galbadia had asked of them. He was, more than any, secure in his position as another hero of the mighty G-Army. It was through this secured position, in fact, that he had acquired a private hearing with President Mesa's military advisers.
The defense council had more or less granted the first President of 'New Galbadia' free reign over all major military contracts after General Caraway's resignation; reconstruction and refurbishing of old field units had been proposed as a way to expand the G-Army's mobility and attack power after a powerful anti-Sorceress movement swept the nation. Mesa had initially pushed for limited production of the newer high-performance X-ATM models and Flying Frames, stressing quality over quantity, but Lyon knew the truth. Mesa was afraid. He did not hold the same sway as Deling had, and Galbadia as a whole had been suffering severe issues with border control and political dissenters (particularly in Timber) since the last Lunar Cry.
It wasn't too complicated for Henry; he saw soldiers for what they were, and recognized their offensive potential, but didn't look to make every soldier into some kind of super-commando, like the SeeDs seemed to think they were. It just wasn't realistic...which was exactly what he'd been trying to convince the rest of the President's council of since his return. Desperate to regain control of the situation, President Mesa had come to depend on the mercenary force almost as an extension of Galbadia's new peace corps, and even personally requested a SeeD security detail to escort Colonel Lyon to Dollet for what would be the last of their trade summits. Most believed a peaceful compromise over control of the satellite relay station was inevitable, but the Colonel knew better: the SeeD would never truly pursue peace as long as international conflict remained their primary source of revenue. Keeping that station in contention meant the Gardens would be well-funded for years to come. Fortunately, his colleagues in power had begun to see things his way, and were preparing accordingly.
"Dane Corporation and G-Tech have each completed Phase One of our re-arming plan, Colonel." buzzed a diminutive Timber-born accountant in the corner. "Total costs for the media campaign are an estimated twenty thou--"
"Thank you, Mr. Smythe, but I don't want to hear about cost figures for posters. I'd like more...relevant numbers? Mr. Dugan?"
"Aye. These are the construction notes for the GIM60." the bulky bowler hat-sporting adviser grunted, handing over a bound manual of sorts. Lyon turned the laminated cover page gingerly, eyes lighting up as he opened the manual up to the system specifications.
"G-Tech modeled these after the data recovered from Esthar's M8 prototype, focused on a more cost-effective production model."
"I see that...minimal armor...AI core's more streamlined than the old models. Simple interface. Easy to train with. Minimal weaponry, though...and what is this, a battery?"
"High yield capacitors replaced the standard reactor core in our new models, sir. Cuts costs by fifty-three percent. Rechargeable on-base or aboard our carriers."
"This look...doesn't seem too intimidating. Maybe a few aesthetic changes...mess around with the head a little...and Dane Corporation? What's the status on the ships?"
"Aye, the prototype escort vessels...I believe you saw the presentation last week?"
"Yes...not much has changed, I imagine, then. When can we expect the first group to join our fleet?"
"The crews are filling up as we speak, sir. The Drakes will be present to move and unload the re-assigned paratrooper units to the coast."
"And what of the renovation project?"
"We recovered components of the test craft from the Centra ruins. It is being reconstructed and re-christened as we speak. All cargo areas have been optimized for cycle trooper deployment. We had to dig up records from the War just to find the dimensions for its holds. It will be completed in time to ship the new Vinzer Battalion to the Dollet border, alongside the new Iron Clad production line."
"Perfect. Now, Phase Two can--"
A sudden sweep of frigid air cut the Colonel's response short, a phantom's breath bearing down on him. He felt a presence, beyond the accountants and councilmen sitting at the conference table before him. The chill became an almost painful warmth, growing hotter against his skin as if the very sun were focused on him alone.
It's time, boy. The clock is ticking.
"...oh. Oh, excuse me, it seems I've lost track of time."
The throbbing heat focused at the back of his head, concentrating into a sharp, stabbing pain until the Colonel simply could not take it anymore.
GET OUT OF MY HEAD.
"I... I have a meeting in Balamb. I must be going."
Not just yet, child.
"Good day to you all." he finished, and returned to the deck to await his transport..
--
Garden, Training Center.
I don't want to wake up.
It was like the old days again. Kinneas strutted into the main combat area with a smile on his face, grinning ear to ear as he interrupted a trainee class' second group skirmish that day by walking right through their battle zone. Making his way through the rebuilt chamber, designed to simulate an authentic war zone, the struggling trainees' conversation caught his ear.
"Hey, weren't we starting para-magic demonstrations today?"
"No, dummy, Instructor Zindel is doing field exams all week. We've got subs until she gets back from the ruins."
"Man, what a gyp! All the cool kids get to field on Centra while we sit around here and kick Grats around all day."
"Yeah. I heard only eight people from all three senior classes qualified for the exam this time around. I wonder how many will pass."
"Oh, yeah. Failure rate's only gotten higher since the Cry."
"I heard that Dezo is taking it this time.."
Irvine was nothing but sunshine and happy days, his playful swagger now a bouncing trot across a makeshift bridge linking the rest of the grounds to a grassy knoll by the center limits. Joker sat there, hunched under a palm tree counting cards until the trench coat-sporting deviant made his presence known.
"Heya! Long time no see! Wanna play some some cards?"
"No thanks. Have you seen Selphie anywhere?"
"Who?"
"Selphie. Selphie Tilmitt? She's a SeeD, runs the Festival Commi--"
"Oh, the crazy girl! She's over in the Quad setting up for the Festival."
--
Garden, Quad.
"Here?"
"Um..a little more to right."
"Is this okay?"
"No, too much!"
"..how about now?"
"Too low!!"
Perhaps it was guilt-- Zell had mucked up Squall's group lecture in the Training Center, and was making up for it here instead of Ochu hunting with the junior students. Perhaps he'd simply felt sorry for poor Selphie Tilmitt, working alone today as the rest of her meager Festival Committee held a fundraiser in Balamb. In any case, he'd spent the last six hours after the accident hanging up banners around the school, starting with the classrooms (after some convincing that it wouldn't get him suspended) and ending up here, again, on the main stage. The last few had gone up fairly easily, but this one was proving to be a problem. Selphie Tilmitt had a keen eye for decoration, meaning Zell would be staying up on that ladder, clinging to the bottom of the catwalk, for as long as she deemed necessary.
"It looks straight to me."
"Not even close!"
"Are you serious?"
"This is my last year as head of the Committee, Zell! It has to be...perfect!"
"We're two weeks from winter break!"
"Planning ahead never hurt anyone!"
"You're crazy, y'know that?"
It had to be guilt.
--
Garden, Infirmary.
"I knew it'd either be you or Zell."
This again?
Squall rose to his feet with some difficulty, though he showed marked improvement over his last attempt at leaving the bed. A wheeze escaped his tired lungs as he met Quistis halfway, dragging himself toward the door. Gesturing to his SeeD jacket and equipment sprawled out on a desk by the entrance, he attempted to speak, but found himself unable to ask for his things. Almost in pity, Trepe retrieved his clothing and gun belt, the heavenly blue sheen of the Lionheart's blade catching the light from the window as she handed the weapon over.
"The meeting's today. You promised Cid you'd go."
No. Not the same. We're different now.
"...I know. Come on, let's go before Kadowaki comes back."
The walk to the hall was long and surprisingly taxing, as Squall refused the older SeeD's help even as the weight of his weapon wore away what little stamina he had. His hair was sweaty and matted down, framing his sickly pallor with messy swirls of dampened brown locks. As field commander, he was expected to be on hand whenever the Headmaster called-- injuries or no, he would be there. Kadowaki had convinced him to let the wounds heal up naturally, but so far he'd done little more than regret not simply casting a Cura on himself.
"Squall. Is there something on your mind?" Quistis asked, sounding almost forced as she recalled that quickly-fading memory of the boy nursing a scar in her classroom.
...not really.
"It's the field exam. First one I won't be supervising since I came back."
"Does it really mean that much to you?"
Let's talk when it's all done.
Squall picked up the pace, one hand on his gunblade and belt, the other against the wall for support as they reached the end of the hall. Taking a breath, he pressed on, into the open Garden Center, the front gate his final destination.
"It's my job. I should never have abandoned my duties to begin with."
"I don't think this solves anything, Squall. Laguna would--"
I have a lot to tell you...
He winced at the name, stopping in his tracks as Quistis found herself almost covering her mouth in embarrassment. There was a long, dead silence around them, as if the stare he shot her way before turning his gaze to the floor had been enough to freeze every SeeD in place, rooting their very feet to the ground. He let out a quiet sigh, and hugged his side. The stitches were coming loose again. Seemed like he'd be getting those scars after all.
"Squall, I'm sorry. I-- it was just..it slip--"
"I'll go alone." he said, and was off, limping away to the Garden gates. She followed him halfway, but no further as he walked even faster, the warm dampness of his re-opened cuts making his march an agonizing trek from the gates to the waiting car outside.
Always alone.
--
AN: I own only this story; characters, setting, and accompanying music belong to a bunch of significantly more successful Japanese folk. The beginning of my prologue piece is a translation of "Liberi Fatali" from the original game. Feedback is appreciated.